Under the circumstances we, being my father Joshua’s family and his three youngest sisters, could count ourselves lucky we lived on the premises. That’s if you do count living with Grandfather Tamihana and being tied to him by pecking order and obedience a blessing. Oh yes, our names had been inspired by the Bible too. I had been named after a saint, not that it seemed to do me much good.
‘Himiona!’ Dad was calling. ‘Stop your daydreaming, son, and get over here.’
He was standing at the front door of the big house with Mum and my sisters. My mother had managed to pull on her white gloves and secure her hat. We were all in our Sunday best, and only half an hour ago I had been in cow shit.
‘And do try to get on with your grandfather,’ Mum said. ‘No answering back.’
Me?
Just then, cars and trucks arrived from all directions to deposit frazzled uncles, aunts and cousins on the front lawn. My father knocked on the door.
One minute past six.
The door opened. A glittering eye looked down on us. It was slightly skewed and tilted over on a bad left leg. Behind the eye, my aunts Sephora, Miriam and Esther.
‘You’re late,’ the eye said. ‘Zebediah Whatu and his family are here and so is Ihaka and his family, but my own family never gets here on time.’
‘Sorry, Bulibasha,’ my uncles and their wives, aunts and their husbands and my cousins whispered as they filed past Grandfather and into the sitting room. One after another, bobbing their heads.
SorrySorrySorry sorrysorry Bulibasha.
Under and around the eye and bad left leg. Subservient. Meek and mild. Everybody stooped, developing sore backs all of a sudden. Deferential. Not looking the Lord of Heaven in the eye. Then my turn. Hastening past him.
Kiss my arse, Bulibasha.
‘What did you say, Simeon?’ He clipped me over the ear.
‘Sorry, Bulibasha.’
In the corner, my cousin Mohi was pissing himself with mirth.
Left ear ringing, I filed in with the rest of the family and, like them, began to take off my shoes. As I bent down I pointed my bum accidentally on purpose in Mohi’s face and farted.
‘You little bas —’ he began.
I looked at him innocently — who me? — and took my place with my mother and sisters just beside Dad, ninth child and seventh son, and next to Aunt Sephora, tenth child and third daughter.
There was always a hierarchy in the family. Whatever the occasion, Uncles Matiu, Maaka, Ruka and Hone and their families were nearest to Grandfather, but in that sequence. The rest of us followed suit according to order of birth, and if anybody got out of sequence, watch out. Aunt Ruth told me once that that was the way our great-grandfather had organised his even bigger family; it was the only way in which he could tell if anybody was missing. Grandfather had merely perfected the notion, so that it implied degrees of worth. The older you were the more important you were, and therefore you were placed closer to him; the younger you were, the more worthless you became. What other explanation could there be for Dad and Aunts Sephora, Miriam and Esther being so far away from the throne?
I thought, What’s the use of our being here? Especially as there seemed to be some time delay in Grandfather’s words reaching us way down at our end of the room. It was like the echo effect you sometimes get on an overseas telephone –
‘Hello? Elloellello? This is God ododod speak speak ing inging ing.’
My mother jabbed me in the side. Grandfather had been walking from one end of the room to the other. He had stopped, giving me a penetrating look.
‘Is something bothering you, Himiona?’ he asked.
I pretended that his clip over my ear had made me momentarily deaf. Then I beamed him a smile. ‘My ear seems to be okay now, Grandfather.’
Grandfather turned swiftly to Mohi. ‘Tell your cousin what I was saying.’
Mohi was faking a look of penitence. ‘Bulibasha was asking us a question. If the Lord our God had said all His faithful could come through the gates of Heaven at six —’
‘And if you arrived at one minute past six,’ Grandfather continued, ‘would He let you in?’ He looked at his sons in turn.
‘No Bulibasha.’
NoBulibasha Bulibasha bashabasha asha.
‘Well?’ Grandfather was asking me now.
I opened my mouth to answer. I was merely going to point out that the question was entirely supposition and that –
My mother went, Shush.
‘No, Bulibasha.’
Grandfather paused, unsure about the quality of my answer. I had the ability to make my negatives sound quite the opposite.
‘Good,’ Grandfather said. ‘Everybody will be here on time next Sunday —’
The Lord our God hath spoken.
‘Turituri!’ Mum hissed in my ear.
‘But let’s get through today first, be one as a family, go to church as a family and ask God’s guidance.’ Then, for good measure, ‘Joshua, see that your boy gets a haircut. He’s starting to look like a girl.’
The blood rushed to my cheeks. I watched as Grandfather sat down on his throne. His seating himself was our signal that we should kneel. Bulibasha looked in the direction of the bedroom. There was a white linen curtain across the doorway which stirred like a veil as Grandmother Ramona came in. Without looking left or right, she took her place in the vacant chair beside Grandfather.
‘Kua tae mai te wa,’ Bulibasha began, ‘kua timata ta tatou karakia.’
We began to pray.
‘E to matou Matua i te rangi,’ Grandfather leading.
‘Kia tapu tou Ingoa,’ we intoned.
‘Kia tae mai tou Rangatiratanga,’ he continued.
‘Kia meatia tou e pai ae,’ we followed like submissive sheep jumping through Heaven’s gates before it is closed. All the while the minutes ticked away, tick tock, ho hum, yawn, fidget, scratch, ouch.
‘Behave yourself,’ Mum glared. I had begun to indulge in my favourite pastime during prayers — picking my nose. After all, what else is there for a boy to do when he’s bored? That was the trouble with our prayers. They went on for so long, as if Grandfather wanted to make sure that God actually heard us.
Then prayers were over and our family thanksgiving began.
Chapter 4
All family sagas need a sense of history. For us, the descendants of Tamihana Mahana, this was imparted at the October thanksgiving and usually told by Uncles Matiu, Maaka, Ruka and Hone, Grandfather’s eldest sons. In deference to Grandfather’s mana, the rest of us remained kneeling throughout the proceedings. It was the only way to ensure that our heads were never higher than his. If we had anything to ask, we shuffled forward on our knees to request permission to speak.